Beware the Lips
by R Coots
Summary: Jayne never made it back to the ship after a night on the town. Zoe gets sent out to find him. River and Riddick are highly amused. Read and review and I will love you! Forever!


Beware the Lips

Note: This takes place approximately a year or so after _Hide Hide Yourself for Now_. Something like six years post-BDM. See endnotes for more!

Zoe tried to ignore the looks the women were giving her as she slipped out the door and into the dusty street. They thought she was a jilted lover. A wife who'd been abandoned for a night of pleasure in another woman's arms. That they were the ones opening those arms and legs for the pleasure any man with the coin to pay didn't much matter in the face of things. People had to eat and in many cases, for a woman with no family or no prospects of work; the oldest profession in the 'Verse was the one most often turned to. That others' relationships and marriages might get in the way of that was of lesser concern than survival.

Zoe shook her head and looked down the street. This was a port town, the biggest on this particular continent, and as such it boasted a number of whorehouses. She'd been to three so far, all the usual haunts, and come up dry. Now she had a choice. Start checking the ones further away from the docks, or start checking alleys behind bars. Because she refused to go with option three. Worry.

Ruttin' moron anyways. Of all the _g__ou tsao de_ things she had to get stuck with. Hunting that _hwoon dahn_ through Morrow's Port was not something she appreciated getting told to do.

But Riddick and River had been suspiciously absent this morning, Inara and Kaylee would get eaten alive by the streets that surrounded the bars, and Mal…well Mal was just a coward. And he knew it.

When she found Jayne she was going to frog march him back to the ship and put him on septic duty for a month.

She found the bonded pair first, and glared at them as they wandered down the street in her direction. River was tucked up under Riddick's arm, as per usual, and the big muscled murderer was fiddling with a bag of God only knew what. They had to know she was there, and she thought very hard about the fact that if she hadn't had to go on this wild goose chase, they very well might have been _left_ on this godforsaken ball of dirt. What the ruttin' hell had they been doin' anyways, off the ship and probably gone all night?

On second thought she didn't want to know. Not only was it creepifyin' as all get out, imagining the things this pair got up to when they went off alone like that, but the way Riddick was grinning probably meant there had been bloodshed at some point. And the less she knew about _that_ the better. Especially if she ever had to bail either one of the two out of jail.

Still smirking, Riddick tossed the bag in his hand one last time, and then stuffed it down one of his pockets just as the pair drew to a halt in front of her. River was lookin' up at her through her lashes, and the corners of her lips were twitching.

Zoe scowled a little harder. "Either a' you two seen Jayne? Cap'n's lookin' to get out of atmo just as quick as he can." Unsaid went the accusation that they would've been in a world of trouble once Mal realized he was missing both pilots. Hell, by now he probably _had_ discovered they were missing.

River giggled and reached out to pat the first mate on the arm. "Yes," she said. "Captain Daddy knows. There will be much yelling and waving of hands when they get back to Mother." Her face twisted and she leaned back into Riddick's side. "But she has not seen Jayne. Left alone. Found…entertainment alone. Did not say where he planned to end up."

Zoe opened her mouth, ready to ask if either of them could help track him down, but Riddick beat her to the punch. "Better get back to the ship. Let Mal get his bitching done with so we can get the fuck out of here." He started to walk off, tugging River along with him.

The girl reached out and caught at her friend's hand before she was too far away. "Don't worry Zoe. When last she heard, he was very drunk. Very interested in the woman he held. Cannot have gotten far."

Riddick waved his free hand over his shoulder. "We'll tell Mal you're still lookin'."

Zoe stood for a moment, muttering curses on big pushy convicts with all the care of a cat for their crew, then spun on her heel and stalked off. Wouldn't find Jayne standin' around in the street. And if he hadn't made it to one of his usual haunts and he was as drunk as River said-although that must have taken some doin' on his part- then he had probably done one of two things. Ended up in the street, as most drunks did after last call; or ended up in some tart's bed and God only knew how she'd manage to find him then.

Ignoring the twist in her chest at the thought, Zoe poked her head into the shadowed gap between a couple of buildings. It looked promising. A bar on one side and a whorehouse on the other. But the shadows were empty of anything but trash and a stray dog, and she jerked out of the way to let the panicked animal run past her.

She sympathized. Too bad she couldn't run. Instead, she got stuck with this job, being the one who had to hunt that _wang badan _down and drag him back to the ship. Never mind the fact that she found herself pulling up Wash's mental image more and more often lately, to scrub the other imaginings from her mind. Never mind the fact that Jayne had taken to watching her when he thought she wasn't paying attention. And then going and screwing everything he could reach with two legs to spread for him the minute they hit dirt.

She was going to find that _hwoon dahn_, and the next time he was late for takeoff, _Riddick_ could be the one to go find him. Because square jaw and blue eyes and rangy muscled athleticism or no, she was _not_ going to be the one to go kick him out of some _ji nu's_ bed again. This was going to be it. Once was enough. Yes Sir.

As it happened, she wasn't going to be doing _any_ kicking out of bed at all. And as much as she'd been trying to avoid the imaginings of what he'd look like all wrapped up in some naked woman's arms, while being less than clothed himself, what she found was almost worse.

There was another bar just down the street from the last alley she'd poked her head into. She came around the corner of the building and nearly tripped over a pair of familiar boots, attached to a pair of familiar legs that she knew very well. He was tucked up in a corner between the garage that butted up against the rear of the tavern and the lean-to of the employee exit. There was a bench there, hidden deep in shadow, and it didn't take much to guess what it was used for. Not in this part of town.

Her eyes adjusted somewhat to the gloom, and Zoe didn't know if she should panic or kick the man. Or kick the man in a fit of panic.

Dried blood was a familiar sight, and the edge of the bench was marked with it. He lay half slumped against the metal frame of the thing, head lolling against his chest, a bloodstain on the shoulder of his good striped shirt. His only good shirt. His only shirt in fact, that didn't have a logo or something incredibly rude written on it.

She hated that shirt, and refused to let her mind drift to why. What was more important was trying to figure out if he was breathing. If he had a concussion. If she could wake him up and get him on his feet.

She checked the rest of him over for other injuries, or started to. Her attention was caught about halfway down and her mind ground to a halt in denial. No way. No ruttin' way in Hell was she hauling him through the streets like that. No _ruttin'_ way. And neither was she going to do anything about it either.

Zoe bit her lip and scowled at the man and wished very fervently that Mal had never brought him on board. Or that he'd never stayed. Never become part of their family. She wished for her husband. For blond hair and a child's love of fun paired with a strength of character she'd rarely seen in any man before she'd ended up following a stubborn Sargent around the 'Verse. If she thought hard enough on her man, on her husband dead long before his time, she could ignore the fact that she was staring.

And then her eyes adjusted a little more and all the vestiges of temptation flew right out the window.

~BTL~

His head hurt. Not the kinda hurt that meant you were about to die, but no little bitty mosquito bite of a headache either. He felt woozy, and the ground beneath him lurched slightly. Or was that him? It was always hard to tell what was moving and what was trying to stay still when he was drunk.

But the women sure did get prettier. And lately, he'd needed plenty of pretty womenfolk to distract him from the one beautiful one who'd been invading his dreams of late.

For a moment he thought he _was_ dreaming, as he felt something nudge his foot and a voice like molasses filtered through the haze of pain. His eyes felt glued shut, but after a little head shaking-quickly vetoed in favor of _not_ feeling like it was exploding- and some rubbing at his face with hands that felt like lead weights, he managed to get them open.

He _wished_ it was a dream. In his dreams, she was always naked. In his dreams, she wasn't glaring at him, or prodding his leg with her boot. Of course, Wash always showed up in his dreams too, and yelled and cussed and sometimes even chased him around with one of those gorram dinosaurs of his.

Which is probably what he deserved, for dreamin' of Zoe naked.

"Gorramit woman," he muttered as he clutched at his head. "What the hell do you want?"

She didn't answer, and he couldn't see her face. He'd just discovered the gash and the dried blood on the back of his head; and stars were popping behind his eyes as the pain stabbed a railroad spike into his mind. _Liou coe shway duh biao-tze huh hoe-tze fuh ur-tze!_ What the ruttin hell had happened anyways?

And then he looked down.

He froze. There was John Thomas, bright eyed and awake and staring him in the face. For all the world to see. For _Zoe_ to see.

Oh _tian xiz shou you de ren dou gai si._

Zoe had quit prodding him, but he didn't want to look up and see what she was doing now. She hadn't walked away though. He wished she'd just left him here. He didn't know what was more humiliating. The circumstances, or the fact that it had been _Zoe_ who found him like this.

Hell, even River or Riddick would have been better.

For a moment he tried to figure out how fast he could get up, pull himself together, and run for the ship. An abortive move in the direction of levering himself upright told him that he'd probably just fall on his face if he tried to move any faster than a snail.

Ruttin' hell. He was going to need help.

Just to be sure he wasn't imagining anything; he took another look at his situation. Nope. Still the same.

Then he braced himself and looked up at Zoe. She was scowling at him, arms crossed and looking like she'd just stepped in a pile of shit. He wasn't quite sure what to do with that. He'd half expected laughter, except that probably would have been something Riddick would do. Or River. Mal would just look like he wondered how he got such a moron on his crew. Simon, well, who knew what the Doc would do these days. Time was he'd have gotten him up, and then told everyone one the ship.

Jayne prayed Zoe wouldn't tell anyone. Please God don't let her tell anyone.

Barring that, let him get shot sometime on the next job. Better, let Mal get shot. In the ass. Anything to distract the crew.

"Well Jayne," she snapped at him, and the words made his head ring. "You gonna get up? Mal's chompin' at the bit, wantin' ta get off this planet."

Nothing for it then.

She didn't help him either. In fact, if he could have guessed, he would have said she looked even more disgusted than usual. Not that either of those things was a surprise. Not that he didn't deserve to be left to rot.

But when he was finally standing, that's when he ran into a bit of a problem. He needed his hands, and they were currently braced against the walls on either side of this little hideaway. He gave Zoe a look, pleading for help with his eyes. She curled a lip and turned away.

All right then. He could do this. He'd done it a million times. He'd even managed it after that four day binge he'd gone on when he realized those ruttin' dreams were invading his mind during daylight hours.

Just zip up your pants Cobb. Ain't a thing after all. Ignore the lipstick 'round your John Thomas and zip up your damn pants.

He quit bracing himself up with his hands and let his shoulder take the brunt of the landing as he fell against the wall. Pain exploded again, and he lost track of up and down for a moment or six before he managed to get his fumbling fingers to work. Then he caught skin in the zipper and nearly cried out in pain. But Zoe was still there, God only knew why; and he wasn't about to start bawling like a baby in front of her. So he got himself free with only a whimper or two and went about yanking the zipper up a little more carefully.

And then he was stuck again. His knees were buckling, his head swimming, and he had no idea how he was going to make it back to the docks under his own power. No use asking Zoe for help. Cap'n had probably sent her to find him, but he wouldn't blame her if she made him _crawl_ the whole way back. In fact, if she left him there and told Mal she'd found him dead in a ditch and they should just leave, he wouldn't blame her.

At least he wouldn't have to face the crew.

But all his guns were on the ship. Along with his savings and the rest of his stuff.

Nothing for it then. Time to man up and see how far he could get.

As it turned out, he didn't even make it a full step before his balance went one way and his feet the other. Hard, unforgiving ground rushed up to meet him, and he cringed in anticipation of the pain he was about to feel. This was not his day. In so many ways, this was not his day.

And then something caught him under the shoulder and his downward motion was brought to a complete halt as a strong arm wrapped around his waist and fine boned fingers grabbed for his hand where it was clinging to someone's arm. Leather and brown sugar. That shampoo that she used. Zoe.

He didn't know if he should be mortified or grateful that his mind started tracking the scent of the laundry soap her clothes had been washed in. Better than reacting to the feel of her next to him, or to having one arm slung over her shoulders. So much better than making a fool of himself like that. Because if she noticed, she was just as likely to chop his pecker off as she was to dump him back in the dirt. And neither was a thing he wanted right now.

Better to suffer the indignity of being half carried through the streets. Savor this while it lasted, no matter the circumstances. 'Cause this was as close as he was ever going to get to her, now or in the future.

She didn't say a word as she helped him find his balance. Once he'd shaken the stars from his head and rubbed at his face with his free hand, she started off. He went with her of course, one slow agonizing step at a time. He was still having trouble with his balance, his John Thomas still hurt from the zipper, and his balls felt like he'd been kicked by a mule. The shift and slide of Zoe's ribs against his weren't helping matters down south much; and he tried to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. And then the next. And the next. Anything to distract himself from the fine figure of a woman he was pressed up against.

Somewhere about halfway down the street he noticed people were stopping and staring. A woman in a kilted up skirt and a fancy corset was watching them from the front step of a building. Monica, he remembered. The Madame of that particular whorehouse.

A child's voice asked what was wrong, and he heard the mother hush it, then the quick scuffle of the kid being drug off and away.

Oh Lord.

He'd done this walk any number of times. Hauled himself back to the ship or staggered into a bar with a pretty lady on either arm. Stumbled his way down the street using benches and light posts to keep himself upright. But he'd never had to be carried like this. Never had to bring this humiliation down on any of his crew. A man, wobbling and bleary in the early hours of the morning, that was fairly common in this part of town. A man with a whore helping him along was just as common.

But it was a special sort of shame to look like a man who'd gone and cheated on his wife, then had to be picked up out of the gutter by her the next mornin'. He'd live. But next time they came through here, everyone who'd seen him this mornin' would be lookin' at Zoe with pity and disdain. How could they know there weren't nothin' tween them? All the people in this part of town knew which boat he crewed on. Knew who the Cap'n and First Mate were.

He tried to say something. Tried to stand on his own two feet and get moving on his own. But he couldn't even straighten up without pain exploding through his head, and his attempt at "I'm sorry," came out a garbled mess. Next to him Zoe stiffened and stopped for a moment. He felt her hair brush against his ear as she turned her head to look at him, but she didn't say a word. Just hitched his arm a little higher over her shoulder and tightened her grip on his waist before continuing the trudge down the street to the docks.

He was never living this down.

~BTL~

River and Riddick were standing at the top of the ramp as they made their way up to the ship. Jayne was no steadier on his feet than he had been when Zoe found him back in that alley. He'd made a couple attempts to walk on his own, and each time, he'd made it all of a foot and half before nearly falling on his face. Finally, Zoe had told him he could either let her help, or she'd drop him in the dirt and let him crawl home.

He tried to glare at the smirking pair as he tripped over the edge of the ramp. But he knew the expression was lost in the general pain and the worry that worse than having to be helped home, he'd end up dragging Zoe down with him if he really did lose all control over his feet. Gorram it anyways. Why hadn't his head cleared up by now? He'd never been _this_ hung over and unsteady by the time he made it back to the ship.

"Well, aren't you two such a romantic picture," Riddick said as he propped an arm over one of River's shoulders and dangled a leather pouch from one finger. The man was grinning, that special evil grin that told people who knew him that the man was about to have a shitload of fun at their expense. Jayne's heart sank at the expression. Any hope he might have had in not having the whole _crew_ know that Zoe'd had to help him home had just dropped right out of orbit.

Next to him, Zoe went stiff as a board, and he tried to turn and see what had gotten her goat this time. But he still wasn't telling up from down very well, and what happened instead was that he twisted right out of her grip and fell hard. His shoulder hit first, then his head bounced against metal, and he yelled in pain and alarm. He caught a glimpse of the look on Zoe's face, flat and angry, before he had to clutch at the freshly opened wound at the back of his head and hold back an unmanly whimper.

_Ta ma deh_ lunatics. Sittin' there laughing at him. At Zoe. He'd give them a piece of his mind, if only he could scrape together enough of it to form a sentence.

Twin shadows blocked out the sun, and he squinted up at the snickering pair. Riddick was shaking his head and grinning as he dug in that leather pouch he'd had, and River just laughed and laughed as she pried Jayne's fingers away from his head and pulled him forward so she could check the back of it. Zoe was still there, oddly enough. He'd expected her to just head inside, now that the resident crazies had shown up.

Bony knuckles pinched his nose, and he yelled as River shook his head and the pain returned threefold. "No insulting us," she said through her giggles. "We have your wallet after all."

Oh _go se_. His wallet. His ruttin' wallet! It wasn't _much_ money in there, but every bit counted. His momma had sent him that wallet. How the hell had they gotten a hold of it?  
Brown leather, scuffed and worn, waggled in front of his face. Riddick pulled it away when he made a snatch for it. "Ah," the man said. "Don't you want to know where we found it?"

Jayne tried to reach for it again. "Don't ruttin' care. It's mine. Give it!"

More proof that he was out of his mind. He really should know better than to give Riddick fodder for any of his mind games. The wallet got yanked out of reach again, and River left off pinching his nose to make clucking noises and wag her finger at him. "Should be thanking us," she said. "Found the whore who found you. Took her purse. Took your wallet." She leaned in and he yelled again as she dropped a fist right over his poor abused John Thomas. "Took her lipstick too."

He heard Zoe mutter a curse and the stomp of her boots as she stalked past them, but it was only with part of his brain. The majority of his thoughts had come to a screeching halt as he put the pieces together.

It was worse. It was so much worse than he'd thought. No wonder he couldn't remember anything beyond refusing kisses on the lips and hands fumbling for his zipper as she slid down to kneel between his legs. _Ha_ _bang_ his lily white ass! That bitch!

This was worse. So much worse than having to be hunted down and helped home. So much worse than just passing out in an alley and splitting his skull open.

Jayne couldn't help the whimper as he stared down at his crotch and the offending instrument of his doom. And he'd thought they were such good friends. Made each other happy. Found plenty of willing women together. He'd even been holding true to his promise. Kisses on the lips weren't to be had. But lips in other places…

Traitor.

River was snickering again, Riddick half a beat behind her, and he snarled in helpless fury at them both. He was about to sit up and give them each a piece of his mind when a new set of boots came tromping across the deck. "What the gorram hell you three sitting out here for?" Mal's voice was all kinds of pissed off. "Got a ship ta fly. Job to be done on Whittier." He turned to go, and then stopped.

Jayne squinted up into the scowling face of his Captain and prayed the man never found out the truth of the previous night. "An' you," the other man said. "You need a shower. Stink ta high heaven. What'd you do, sleep in the mud?"

Jayne just grunted in reply as his Captain stalked off into the bowels of the ship, then glared at the hands that River and Riddick were holding out for him to talk. Smug _huh choo-shung tza-jiao duh tzang-huo!_

But they got him on his feet and even up into the main cargo bay before dropping him on the nearest pile of crates, obviously leaving him to fend for himself. River stood aside as Riddick dropped the wallet in his lap. One last dig, a "Should probably go wash the lipstick off your dick," and the two were gone, chuckling and snickering all the way up the stairs. Across the bay Zoe was tightening down their latest cargo, face a stone mask as she refused to even turn his way. Jayne slumped where he sat and buried his face in his hands.

And he'd thought life with an untouchable woman was hard _before_.

She was never going to forgive him for this.

Author's Note: I have one real beef with 'Our Mrs. Reynolds' and Saffron in particular. I always asked myself, why the lips? Why just kissing? In theory, shouldn't that special lipstick of hers be just as effective anywhere? Which, of course, led to the worst case scenario. I wish I could blame Shenandoah76209 for this, but I think all she did was sit back and laugh and maybe give a prod or two in the right direction when I mentioned the possibility of a Blowjob of Doom to her. Maybe it was mostly laughing

Either way, I figured I'd write the story. I toyed with implied Zoe/Jayne through HHYFN, and I have future plans for them too. I'd say 'poor Jayne', but he really sort of asks for this stuff to happen. Just by existing ;)

_gou tsao de_ –dog humping

_hwoon dahn_ -bastard

_wang badan –_ dirty bastard

_ji nu_ -whore

_tian xiz shou you de ren dou gai si.-_Fuck everyone in the universe to death.

_Ta ma deh_ –mother fucking

_go se-_shit

_Ha_ _bang_ -suck one's dick

_huh choo-shung tza-jiao duh tzang-huo- _Animal-fucking bastard


End file.
